


House of Light

by orphan_account



Series: Worldweavers One-shots and Snippets [12]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, Worldweavers - Multiverse
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Mild Language, Modern Era, Multi, Polyamory, Slice of Life, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24842158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Three young lovers are buying their first house, but is there more to their new neighbour (and to their own history) than meets the eye?
Relationships: Claire James (OFC)/Sören Sigurdsson (OMC)/Anthony Wyatt-Jones (OMC)
Series: Worldweavers One-shots and Snippets [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2002375
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10





	House of Light

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Worldweavers Multiverse](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/709927) by Verhalen. 



> A fluffy-ish what-if featuring a selection of the usual OC suspects. If you aren't familiar with previous stories featuring these characters then this piece will probably still make sense, but it will read like ofic rather than anything Tolkien-adjacent.
> 
> Claire is my OC; Sören belongs to Verhalen; Anthony bothers us both and seems to have a mind of his own.

_Still, what I want in my life_  
_is to be willing_  
_to be dazzled —_  
_to cast aside the weight of facts_  
  
_and maybe even_  
_to float a little_  
_above this difficult world._  
_I want to believe I am looking_  
  
_into the white fire of a great mystery._  
_I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing —_  
_that the light is everything — that it is more than the sum_  
_of each flawed blossom rising and fading. And I do._

\- 'The Ponds' by Mary Oliver

* * *

**_September 2009_ **

_Brighton, England_

Sören was right, Claire thought, surveying the Edwardian terrace with pleasure. It _did_ feel like home.

"Well?" Anthony leaned against the low brick wall at the property's front. His arms were folded; his smile was assured, if not downright smug.

 _Don't think you're forgiven, Anthony Wyatt-Jones._ "So far, so good." She slid an arm around Sören's waist, silently telling her other partner that she was far more drawn to the place than she was willing to let on to Anthony - yet. "It needs some work."

Anthony lifted his eyebrows. "This from Claire James, who never met an improvement project or almost-lost cause that she didn't like the look of?"

"I'm just stating the facts, _Cassius._ "

His eyes narrowed - but it was true. The house was on a sloping residential street that ran down to the town centre. Claire knew that only the upper part of the property was for sale - and that was the part that looked faded, its red brickwork dull even in the glow of the late September sun. The white paint on the first floor window frames was peeling, and several of the roof tiles were crooked. _Like nobody cared enough to tidy it up for visitors._

But in spite of that she felt a warm ache in her chest, a strange, deep longing that she couldn't place - like a friend half-forgotten was calling her name, reaching a hand out through darkness and fog to gently take hold of her own.

The light on the street had that bright, clear quality peculiar to seaside towns, as though the water's presence had rinsed the air clean. Seagulls shrieked and squabbled above the chimney pots. And the house, to borrow a phrase from Elaine Wyatt-Jones, certainly had _potential_. The paint might be flaking and the walls might need a good scrub, but the windows were wide and faced east; she imagined flinging them open to a warm summer morning, drinking orange juice on the little Juliet balcony that sat above the pair of painted doors.

 _Don't get too attached,_ she cautioned herself. _You haven't even seen the inside yet._

She surveyed the short flight of steps in front of her, and the two doorways nestled together, the left one white and glossy, the right one green and somewhat chipped. "Which door is ours?" she asked. Anthony and Sören exchanged a look, and she immediately regretted her use of the possessive. "You know what I mean."

"The door on the right leads to the property we are considering purchasing." Anthony gave her his best inscrutable barrister smile. "Will that do?"

Claire laughed. She couldn't help it. "Yes, I think so." She took Sören's arm and placed a light kiss on his neck. "Go on, then. Lead the way."

As Anthony wrestled with the stiff lock, Claire cast a curious glance at the white door. "Have you met the people who live in the flat underneath?"

"Person," Sören corrected. "And _já_ , he seems nice. Oldish. Bit eccentric." He grinned. "You know, when Anthony introduced himself, this guy - Brian - said the strangest thing. He said, "I thought you'd be blond.""

"What?" Claire giggled. "I mean...how did he even know you were coming?"

"He had to let us in, since it was out of hours for the estate agent." Anthony turned to answer her, having finally succeeded with the lock. "The woman who owns the house lives in Hertfordshire. Brian has a key."

It still rankled that they had been to see the house without telling her, even though at the time she'd been too preoccupied with her inability to keep food in her stomach or move from the sofa. _That_ , mercifully, seemed to have settled down, and it was pointless to argue about their visit again. "Maybe he just decided you sounded like a blond. You know - formed a mental image."

"Maybe." Anthony grimaced. The doorhandle was sticking now; Claire added it to the mental list of jobs that would need doing. "He seems like he'd be a decent neighbour, anyway. Apparently he's a retired maths teacher."

Sören tilted his head. "Did he tell us that?"

"I asked the estate agent."

 _Of course you did,_ Claire thought, amused, and followed them inside.

The vestibule was unremarkable - shadowy, cool, and speckled with dust. Sören flicked on the light, which sputtered a little before settling into a thin bluish glow. Claire pulled a face as she looked around. The paint on the walls was a sickly shade of cream; the tiled floor felt chilly through the soles of her sneakers, and the worn-out runner on the stairs didn't quite hide the bare, smooth stone.

"I know." Anthony caught her expression and flashed her an (almost) apologetic smile. "Sören and I thought the same thing - but it's better upstairs."

"And we can make even this little space all homely." Sören gestured at the plain, peeling walls. "We can re-coat these, and paint on some patterns, or murals...glass panes in the door, maybe, so it isn't so dark..."

"The tiles are original," Anthony added. "They'll look fine once they're clean."

Claire nodded, tracing the black-and-white geometric pattern with the toe of one shoe. "We can lean into the period look, I suppose - there are plenty of secondhand and antique furniture stores in town. A big rocking chair in that corner, some vintage coat hooks..."

"A potted plant or two," Anthony grinned.

"We could put some of your books in here." Sören pointed at a shallow alcove, a crinkle between his brows, dark eyes watching her closely. He was worried, Claire realised - anxious that she wouldn't like the home that he and Anthony had obviously set their hearts on.

She took both of his hands in hers. "Maybe. Though I think it's a better size for the sculpture you made. The two ravens perched in the tree."

His face lit - and then immediately he frowned again. "You don't think it would look weird in here?" He bit his lip. "It's a pretty modern piece, and this place is...well... _not_ modern."

"I don't think that matters; there's nothing wrong with being eclectic." Claire thought of the striking contemporary touches in Elaine and Roger's villa in Blackheath. "And I like the idea of them sitting there, guarding the way in." She squeezed Sören's hands and turned to Anthony. "Thoughts?"

"I agree." His green eyes gleamed with amusement. "Though of course I would never presume to lead the witness by suggesting -"

"Alright, alright." She pretended to glare. "What's upstairs?"

"A flat."

"You astonish me."

"Hey." Sören tapped her gently on the nose, and made puppy-dog eyes at Anthony. "Be nice to each other."

Upstairs _was_ better. Admittedly it was shabby, and the cheap furniture didn't help, but Claire had known that from the website and tried to see past it. Cheerful, raggedy rugs were scattered over polished floorboards; the original cast iron radiators were still in place; intricate plaster ceiling roses framed the electric light fittings. The layout, to her mind, was backwards, with with the bedrooms facing onto the street. The larger of the two opened onto the balcony she'd seen earlier, and a fireplace took up most of one wall. It was boarded up, but still intact, with the original tiles peeping out from behind the chipboard, and curlicued hooks in the wall for the poker and tongs. The room was bright, with a high ceiling and a sharp, woody scent, and she imagined curling up together after a long day, flames dancing happily in the hearth...

"Do you like it?" Sören was all anxious brown eyes again.

She nodded. "Beats what we've got now, anyway."

Anthony made a derisive sound in the back of his throat. "That isn't saying much."

She tried the balcony door, but it was locked. "Drat." Well, she supposed it didn't matter. "How busy is this road?"

"It isn't bad at all during the day." Sören's voice was eager and reassuring. "Anthony and I stood outside for half an hour and we only counted three cars."

"I wonder what the neighbours thought," Claire lauged. "Two tall dark men, loitering in the street..."

" _Loitering?_ " Anthony looked outraged.

"You know what I mean." She put her arms around him, and he softened and squeezed her shoulders. "Are you sure you don't mind that there's no off-street parking? I know what you're like about Selena." Selena was Anthony's car, a gleaming, slate-grey Audi A6. "What if someone takes a chip out of her door?"

"Actually..." He grinned. "I've listed her for sale."

" _What?_ "

"I thought we might need something more family-friendly."

"Wow." Claire looked up at him and shook her head in slow amazement. "Who are you and what have you done with Anthony?"

Gently he kissed the top of her head; Sören laid a protective hand over her belly - still flat, as it would be for a month or two yet. "Don't worry." Mischief sparked in Anthony's eyes. "You won't pry my from my German cars. But an estate _would_ be more practical, or even a four-wheel drive."

"Come on." Sören took Claire's hand and brushed her hair back behind her ears. "We can think about cars later. Let's see the rest of the house."

Behind the master bedroom was another large room with a fireplace. This was divided into a sitting space and a dining area, with sunlight spilling through a wide archway that led to the kitchen.

"It _is_ small," Anthony said of the kitchen. "But it's bigger than the one we have, and we don't need to try and fit in a table, or a washing machine."

"Why not?" Claire grinned. "Are you planning to wash all your clothes in the sink?"

Anthony rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. I mean that there's a utility room just through there."

"And here I was thinking that door led into Narnia."

"Stop it," Sören protested, drawing them both close as Anthony opened his mouth to retort. "No fighting. Please?"

"There's nothing in it, _ástin mín_." Claire pressed her cheek against his shoulder, and gave Anthony a slow, wicked smile. "Not now, anyway. You should have seen us back in college."

"I'm glad I didn't."

Instead of taking her into the utility room ("we'll go out that way later," Anthony assured her) they led her back out onto the landing. After a pause to inspect the bathroom - a violent shade of salmon, much to Claire's amusement - they headed into the fourth of the house's main rooms. This was a smaller, cosier space, with more alcoves like the one downstairs, built-in cupboards and shelves, and strange angles and nooks. From the cheerful clunking and gurgling, Claire guessed that the boiler was housed behind one of the neat wooden doors.

"I think we should paint it green," Sören was saying. "Since we agreed not to do all that pink and blue bullshit. And I could make some mobiles for the ceiling, and -"

"You're thinking nursery, then?" Claire asked, a little surprised.

Sören's brow creased. "What were _you_ thinking?"

"I thought we'd use the second bedroom as the nursery, and this could be a kind of workroom - for your painting, and my crafting, and we could set up a desk for Anthony..."

"We could," Sören allowed. He shared another secretive look with Anthony. "Though if we did that, we'd have no guest room. If Harrison came to stay, or Margrét and Puneet, they'd have to sleep in the living room."

"I'm sure they wouldn't mind - what is it?" Claire's eyes narrowed as laughter flickered across Anthony's face.

"I'm surprised at you, Claire James. Expecting our beloved family to sleep on air beds..."

"Well, what's your suggestion? We don't _need_ a guest room, we've managed without one for a year and a half... _what?_ " She put her hands on her hips and glared at them both. "What do you know that I don't?"

"Are you going to tell her?" Anthony asked.

Sören shook his head, grinning, and took Claire's hand again. "You haven't seen the best part yet." He towed her back onto the landing and pointed upwards to a small, plain white hatch that Claire hadn't noticed before.

"Loft space?" she guessed.

"In a manner of speaking." Anthony had retrieved a ladder pole and hook from one of the cupboards in the nursery - Claire scolded herself for already thinking of it that way - and he proceeded to open the hatch and draw down a battered metal ladder.

"I'll go first," Sören added quickly. "And Anthony, if you follow on behind Claire -"

"I can climb a ladder," she protested, laughing.

"We know." Anthony touched her cheek. "But if you did fall, that could be..."

Claire shivered. "Alright. Point taken."

She didn't object as Sören helped her through the hatch at the top of the ladder - and then she looked around and yelped with delight. It _was_ a loft space, but it was high enough that even Anthony could stand upright without stooping, and it stretched across most of the house's footprint. The ceilings sloped, so not all of the floor area was usable, but still, the space was _vast_.

"Does this meet with milady's approval?" Anthony asked, hauling himself into the loft with them.

"God. _Yes._ "

"We'd need to install windows for some natural light - and proper stairs, of course - but Mum doesn't think it should be too difficult."

"You let your Mum see the place before me?" Claire folded her arms, not sure whether to be tickled or irritated.

"Guilty."

"Do you really like it, _elskan_?" Sören asked.

"Very much." She surveyed the space. "We can set you up with a painting space by the windows, once they're in. I don't need much room, just a work bench and a decent seat - we could have a reading space, and a quiet corner for Anthony's desk, and somewhere for Splodge to play..."

"Splodge?" Sören grinned.

"Well, we can't pick a name yet." Claire touched her stomach, still not quite able to believe what was happening inside her. "And they are essentially a splodge at the moment."

"Our splodge." Sören pulled her into his arms.

The only space left to explore was the garden.

"We share that, right?" Claire asked as she followed Sören and Anthony back through to the kitchen.

"Right." Sören opened the utility room door. "With the old guy downstairs. The maths teacher."

Claire nodded. That was the last thing making her uneasy, whining away under the warm whispers telling her that this was home. She supposed a shared garden was better than no garden at all, but she wasn't sure how she'd feel about letting her child play out there unsupervised, not when someone else had access at any time. _How quickly things change_ , she reflected ruefully. Three months ago she wouldn't have given the garden arrangements a second thought.

The utility room, as she'd expected, was small, plain and functional - a washing machine wedged under a wooden counter, a few shelves, and faded linoleum on the floor. It wasn't part of the original building; Claire guessed it had been added when the house was split into flats. On her right was a door leading to a small cloakroom; on the left, another door opened onto a flight of stone stairs descending into the garden.

"Not bad, right?" Sören grinned as she followed him down.

"Not bad at all."

The garden was a good size. There was a small paved area at the foot of the stairs, and then a long, flat, slightly bow-shaped lawn. The grass was neat, though a little scrubby-looking after the hot summer; the right hand side was lined with raised beds, and troughs and hanging baskets were fastened to the fence. Honeysuckle climbed lazily over the brick wall at the far end, and in the beds nestled a mixture of lavender, shrubs, and herbs. A couple of outbuildings were tucked away towards the back - a greenhouse and a small, neat shed - and just outside them were a few rows of polythene grow-tunnels. Claire had a sudden image of grubbing about with a trowel, stacking courgettes in a wheelbarrow, bruising sage leaves in her hand, pausing to breathe in the smell...she shivered. The vision felt eerily real.

"Cold?" Anthony asked her.

"No. I'm OK. Just...never mind."

He frowned a little, but didn't press her.

"You guys could finally get your cat," she smiled, in a bid to dissipate the strange atmosphere.

"And we can get you a tiny Copernicus," Sören returned.

Claire beamed at the idea, and then checked herself. "Assuming our neighbour is alright with pets in a shared space."

"Ask him yourself." Anthony nodded at the patio behind them. A short, bald, rotund man who might have been any age from fifty to seventy-five was opening the French doors and stepping outside.

"Hello!" Blue eyes twinkled under thick dark brows. The newcomer patted his shirt pocket and drew out a pair of spectacles, then came forward to enthusiastically shake hands with Anthony and Sören. "Back again, I see?"

"Indeed we are." Anthony held an arm out. "Brian, this is our partner, Claire James."

Claire shot Anthony a look, knowing he was testing their potential neighbour; after all, not everyone was tolerant of their unconventional relationship. Even some of their family had needed convincing, she remembered with an internal sigh - but Brian didn't even blink.

"Delighted to meet you at last, Claire." And he shook her hand as warmly and firmly as he had Sören and Anthony's, as though he had indeed been anxious to meet her - though as far as she knew, he hadn't been aware of her existence until a few moments ago. "I do hope this means you're serious about the property? It would be wonderful to have it owner-occupied again; Lady Beauchamp is politeness itself, but I can't say the same for some of her tenants." He shook his head mournfully. "She did at least have the foresight to exclude the garden from the lease contracts, so no trouble _there,_ but -"

"You won't mind sharing it again, will you?" Claire interrupted, and could have kicked herself - both for speaking before he was finished, and for suggesting that their minds were made up. Her cheeks heated.

Brian, though, didn't seem to notice. He waved a hand at the well-kept lawn and the charming jumble of flowerbeds. "Not in the slightest. In fact a little assistance would be welcome, at my age - and I'm perfectly amenable to dogs, and so forth."

"How about cats and tortoises?" Claire grinned.

Sören's ears pricked up at that. "Cats? More than one?"

"You've done it now," Anthony smiled.

Claire chuckled ruefully. "Maybe just one cat for the time being. I suspect in a few months we'll all be _very_ busy."

Sören bit his lower lip and widened his eyes appealingly. "So...what do you say?"

Brian gave them a vague smile and ambled away to inspect the lavender beds.

"I say..." Claire looked around once more. The house _did_ need work - a lot of work - though it was reassuring that Elaine didn't think their plans were too ambitious. And there was that odd sensation she still couldn't shake, like they were _supposed_ to be here - almost as though they'd been called. She remembered the woody scent of the bedroom, the images that had come to her as she explored the house - breakfast on the balcony, sunlight stroking through the windows, long evenings by the fire - and she remembered her grandfather, Joshua, telling her time and again to trust her instincts. Ignoring that advice had only ever brought her heartache. Smiling, she held a hand out each to Anthony and Sören. "I say yes."

Sören yelled, leapt into the air, and then snatched her up in his arms and spun her around; Anthony was more restrained, but his green eyes shone like a May morning, and she could feel his joy and relief as he put his arms around them both. Somewhere in the delightful, giddy chaos, Brian reappeared, kissed her on both cheeks and shook hands again with her partners; Anthony detached himself briefly from the group to put their offer to the estate agent; when he rejoined them, Brian had retrieved a set of chairs and a folding table from the shed, and was in his kitchen preparing a jug of pink lemonade.

"What if they don't take our offer?" Sören asked, suddenly looking anxious again.

Anthony shrugged. "Then we up our bid. But there's no sense in throwing money away if we don't have to."

"What if someone offers more than us _before_ we can up our bid?"

"They won't." A flash of the cool, courtroom smile. "No-one but us has looked around this place in weeks."

"How do you know?"

"I have ways of finding things out."

Brian returned with the lemonade; he set a couple of honey-traps to keep wasps away from their table, and then returned to sit with them, paying particular attention to Claire.

 _Does he know?_ she wondered, as he asked her for the third time if she was warm enough, and if there was anything else she would like to eat or drink. _Has he guessed, somehow?_ She wasn't close to showing, but though Sören's remarks about eccentricity seemed accurate, the old man was sharp. It was in the glint of his eyes, the way he knew precisely when to withdraw and listen, the subtle expressions chasing over his face. Then again, he was a teacher. She supposed he had learned long ago how to read a room.

Her musings were interrupted by the bland metallic ringtone of Anthony's mobile. He stepped away from the table to take the call - though the nods and the satisfied smile told her everything she needed to know.

"What is it?" Sören could hardly keep still in his seat. "What did they say?"

Anthony sat back down, smirking, making a show of putting his phone away and settling into his chair.

" _Cassius Anthony._ " Claire gave him the nearest approximation of her old, disdainful college stare that she could summon. "Stop teasing and spit it out."

He looked up, grinning boyishly. "The house is ours."

There was a second round of joyful yelling; relief, satisfaction and exhilaration shot through Claire in a dizzying rush; Brian went back inside and returned with a bottle of champagne (and orange juice for Claire, confirming her suspicions). Immediately Sören began to sketch out plans to redecorate the flat's interior, while Anthony settled into a discussion with their soon-to-be neighbour about what the soil was like, and what would grow well, and whether they should dig more beds down the other side of the garden. Claire watched it all with the lazy, contented happiness of one with little in the world to wish for. Tomorrow, of course, there would be paperwork, and planning, and a thousand small, bothersome tasks, but for now it was enough to be here, and to rest in the knowledge that there were many evenings like this one to come.

The sun set. The light softened, and the air grew cool. The happy group moved inside, laughing and chattering like old friends - and from the wall at the garden's end, a pair of ravens took wing.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone is wondering about Brian, he first appeared in my fic [Auld Acquaintance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17176559), which confirms his identity.
> 
> The significance of the ravens is explained further in Verhalen's [Northern Lights](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1300868) series.
> 
> The Mary Oliver poem quoted at the beginning is from her collection _House of Light_ , whose title I borrowed for this piece.


End file.
